


Lose My Voice Completely

by Marli_Toled0 (orphan_account)



Series: Amphora; the Good Son [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Ana Jarvis Acting as Tony Stark’s Parental Figure, Angst and Romance, Coming Out, Companion Piece, Demisexual Character, Edwin Jarvis Acting as Tony Stark’s Parental Figure, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Other, Pepper Potts Needs a Hug, Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Self-Acceptance, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marli_Toled0
Summary: Samuel “Pepper” Potts visits his boyhood friend, Tony Stark, for his eighteenth birthday. Seven years have passed since they formed an important friendship— a friendship kept alive through correspondence, even across the U.S.-Canadian border, throughout their adolescences.In writing these letters, Pepper and Tony revealed more about themselves, becoming increasingly vulnerable with each other. However, what is the true difference that distance makes in an intimate relationship? Both young men find themselves challenged by the proximity of the other.Their friendship may well shatter.// A sweet little erotic romance by a demiro ace who is experimenting with their own understanding of romance, sex, and emotional intimacy.
Relationships: Ana Jarvis & Tony Stark, Edwin Jarvis & Tony Stark, Edwin Jarvis/Ana Jarvis, Howard Stark & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Peggy Carter, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: Amphora; the Good Son [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580446
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	1. Pepper; Evanescence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion story to “You Will Rise Up, Free and Easy” — which is the second part in my series “Amphora.”
> 
> I believe each piece will stand alone to some degree, but they will stand more strongly together. Just like our two heroes. ;)
> 
> ***I made the choice to use the birth name and gendered pronouns associated with the assigned sex of a transgender character in narration of this story; this is only meant to illustrate where that person is on the journey to self-understanding at this point in her life. It is definitely not meant to discredit her identity or her womanhood, or to harm any readers by proxy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samuel nearly leaves the train station after traveling hundreds of miles from the safety of the Sisters of St. Joseph Church in Toronto to visit Tony. This reunion with his friend is too reckless, he fears.

_May 23rd 1875_

Samuel Potts pulled at the tweed fabric of his suit as though it were woven from the stalks of nettles. It was not as though he was unused to wearing it; he owned two suits now and wore them, alternatingly, every weekday to his job as apprentice secretary at the Daniel Sousa Law Firm. He’d chosen it for travel since it was hard-wearing and he knew the sooty steam of the train would dirty his clothes. Once at the Starks’ Richmond estate, he could change it in favor of his royal blue linen suit. He’d rather Tony see him in that.

But, it was not the suit alone; the very air around the train platform was bristling with imaginary stinging hairs. The longer Samuel stood in the throng of passengers, straying too closely, with the furnace-belched smog thick in his face, the more he wished he’d never left Ontario. All these things— the bellowing brass whistle, the foul breath of the train, the swarm of strangers, the barked orders from the conductor— just echoed what was emanating from him. Trepidation.

 _When did I become so unnatural in this uncloistered world?_

Samuel would rather have fled to the pocket of wilderness next to the station and breathe the good air, and mollify his anxiety. However, Tony’s telegram was very specific— as always; he rarely missed a detail though he never appeared to actually plan by any normal understanding of the word— about meeting “on the platform” at the New Dorp Station. So, Samuel stood on the platform, eyes flitting from face to face. 

_Seven years_ , he thought, _I've acted like I know him and as though he knows me. We were just children..._

Normally self-possessed and serene, Samuel was growing increasingly agitated. It was foolish to believe he had any more than an afterimage of Tony— as if he’d stared at the sun. Tony was only an ultraviolet ghost branded on the dark blind of his closed eyes. 

Samuel’s breath caught. The sooner he could reconcile that truth inside his head, the closer was liberation. It couldn’t be too late to return to the Silence of the Sisters’ company. Write Tony an excuse. Just call it what it was— an accident, a miscommunication. 

Where was the ticket booth?

But, then, there was Tony, walking by him, on the platform. Far from being a flat, fleeting, electric impression in Samuel’s photosensitive memory, he was there, living and solid. Even within reach. _He’s taller,_ thought Samuel.

Tony was, but was now considerably shorter than Samuel _._ Jutting his chin forward like a hunting hound, Tony strode with speed disproportionate to his stocky legs. His face had grown angular, with far more charismatic attributes, but still clean as in boyhood.

The polite hat he wore wastefully obstructed the view of his dark hair. Pity. His nicer features always ended up concealed, Samuel mused. Take for example, his expression; the wrinkled concentration there now had obliterated that impudent look Samuel remembered.

He snickered at the sight. “Ah—“ The sound was brushed from his lips. Tony marched past, squinting briefly in every direction through the stream. Samuel’s spirit shrank.

_He didn’t recognize me._

Sardonic chuckles erupted. He shook his head and let himself sink for a moment. This was a bad idea. I can still leave— not too late. Taking a blind step in the opposite direction than his friend he collided directly into a broader figure that was passing. “Oh! Pardon me! I wasn’t looking—“

Samuel blinked.

Mr. Jarvis, aged but unchanged, stood before him. Jarvis adjusted his hat and Samuel glimpsed the most gentle rustle of recognition around his eyes. “Not at all. Forgive me for passing by so closely.” He smiled warmly. “It’s a great pleasure to see you again, Master Potts.”

“And you, Mr. Jarvis!” Samuel heard his pleasant, social tone leap to meet the man. Relief slowly followed; despite it all, he still remembered how to act in society.

Jarvis looked past him briefly before remarking, “You’ll have to excuse the young sir. He’s been rather exhilarated the past few days— to the point of inattentiveness, I fear.”

“Then he hasn’t changed much, I suppose, eh?” Samuel quipped gently to which Jarvis smiled.

“Not essentially, I agree,” he said. 

“There you are, Pepper!” Came Tony’s voice from behind; the next second he was at Samuel’s shoulder. “Climbed down your tower by your hair, did you?” He ran a hand carelessly down the long flame of hair Samuel had tied in a single strand. “You’ve got some regular follow-me-lads there.”

Without a chance to feel shy, Samuel was snapped back into another, familiar identity. He cocked his chin and retorted, “Speaking of, I had quite expected to see you sporting a full beard, just to prove you could grow one.”

Tony blanched. “And have every stuffed shirt that waltzes into the house tell me how much I resemble my father? You’re off your head, Pep.” His expression lit up then. “But it is so good to see you!” He said, and Samuel saw the rare lowering of this friend’s armor.

 _This is reckless_. Samuel thought as his heart lurched. But, he forced himself to focus. He returned Tony’s grin. “We’ve been waiting a while to see each other again, eh?” he said. _This entire trip was a very reckless stunt, Pepper..._

Jarvis spoke up. “Do you have much luggage, Master Potts?”

Samuel indicated the leather bag at his feet. An umbrella was secured on top by one of his mother’s flimsy belts. The brass clasp was inscribed: VIRGIL E. POTTS. It always accompanied his father to and from the theatre-house in Toronto, packed full of costumes, wigs, and props, which rightfully should have remained at the theatre; however, Virgil Potts could never resist spiriting these items home for his children to make believe. He’d forgotten it at home the last time he left for a show.

“Just this.”

Tony hummed lightly. “That’s right, J. The holy Sisters are teaching Samuel here the glories of self-denial and a life without possessions.” Ignoring him, and Samuel’s instinctual, polite resistance, Jarvis retrieved the leather bag.

Since it was clear that Jarvis insisted on carrying his luggage, Samuel’s hands returned to his waist, clasped. He turned to Tony and smirked. “Undoubtedly you’ve also devoted your time to such pious education?”

“Not at all,” Tony said, dismissively, “but, I have applied myself to my own pursuits. In fact,” — and here he glanced mischievously to Jarvis, who gave a tolerant, uplifted eyebrow— “I want to show you my latest accomplishment. You can ride a bicycle, I presume?”

With that, Tony sauntered from the train platform, into the station. Samuel stood with Jarvis a moment. Amusement and apprehension mingling on his face, he asked, “Should I be worried, Mr. Jarvis?”

Jarvis hummed but answered easily: “I rarely find cause for alarm when it comes to the young sir’s engineering pursuits.” He paused as they began following the path Tony had set. “Then again, I sometimes fear I’ve become blasé toward... danger.”

Samuel laughed and found that, as with exercising a muscle that had gone slack, the initial ache was replaced by a sense of ease.


	2. Tony: Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As an adolescent, Tony’s only reliable source of candid, meaningful knowledge was Mrs. Ana, his governess and mother figure. Because of his trust, he brings a very sensitive topic to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: discussion of sexual arousal in an educational conversation between an adult and child

_September 8, 1869_

Whenever Tony asked Mrs. Ana a _sensitive_ question, she answered, with a singular clearheadedness. She was the only honest adult he’d ever met. However, there was a quirk that told him when his curiosity had touched on something _sensitive_. Her lips would invert and disappear, into a colorless line above her chin.

When he saw that, he knew she would be translating the truth into what she called “age-appropriate” education.

Really, though, Mrs. Ana didn’t seem very shy about most subjects. His mother would rather be eaten alive by wild animals than face the mortification of discussing _indelicate_ topics with him. Whether Mrs. Ana felt uncomfortable or not, she’d give Tony her concise discourse on the matter and then add an afterword to the discussion, along the lines of, “It would not be my immediate suggestion that you broach this subject in mixed company.”

So, Tony was expecting the little, lipless line on this particular afternoon. The sun sluiced down the thin panes of the garden greenhouse. The greenhouse, one of his and Mrs. Ana’s projects, had been their only classroom that summer. Both governess and pupil preferred the greenhouse, with its concentrated aroma of tangy soil, the blunt smell of damson bark, and the dusty, metallic scent of sunned glass, to being indoors.

Tony sat on bent knees by a row of damson, writing tight lines in his observation journal. Sitting until he was numb from calf to ankle, he scrawled intently, hardly taking a moment to breathe. Finally, he stood and rubbed the blood back down into his legs. His expression was businesslike, at least insofar as he could make it.

He approached Mrs. Ana and handed her his observation journal, where he kept notes on the transplanted damson trees. Half of the saplings were his responsibility, and Mrs. Ana was deadly serious about the health of these trees. She had not kept it much of a secret that she wanted the plums for making _szilvás gombóc_ and _pálinka_.

The saplings were transplanted back in April and yielded no fruit, but Mrs. Ana was bedeviled over this venture. “I would have a heavy yield of damson plums next fall. The merchant told me these trees were in their third growing season.” She had huffed. “I wonder.”

Even without fruit, Tony thought these trees were particularly fragrant. Their pungency permeated the greenhouse with a drunken abandon. It left him heady. 

Mrs. Ana clapped the dirt from her hands before she took the journal. “I will review your notes. In the meantime, you may work on pruning the old fruiting canes of your blackberries.”

His blackberries. Tony had asked to plant these brambles once all the damson trees were transplanted. Mrs. Ana agreed readily (and also used the request as a leverage against his complaining… “Why are we laboring over trees when we have gardeners?”) “If you want blackberries, you want work,” she said. “The gardeners contend with enough. Besides, learning to care and tend will build a better engineer in you. Sometimes we construct with living things.”

He’d rolled his eyes.

Thus, all throughout May he had planted the canes, tucking their roots in the cool soil as though into bed, and mulched, and kept a careful watering schedule, learning when the dirt felt “thirsty”, and spread fertilizer from the compost. As much as he grumped about time lost on his mechanic tinkering and as much as he resented Mrs. Ana’s insistence that he wash until every dark wisp of dirt was cleansed from his fingernails, Tony fell in love with the work. The greenhouse air stuck in his throat and he breathed with a pleasant effort. Gardening was compulsive enough to command his mind and labor-intensive enough to tire him by the end of the day. The lingering heat in his clothes juxtaposed with the crisper air when he stepped outside was thrilling.

In June, there were no blackberries to harvest. Mrs. Ana explained that it would require a couple more years. Tony accepted this passively; he was determined to continue his care of the bramble until it yielded the little midnight-colored fruits. Seeing his conviction in the face of disappointment, Mrs. Ana sent Mr. Coulson to town for a crate full from the market.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony said, lingering, while Mrs. Ana placed his journal on a stool. He chewed on the side of his mouth thoughtfully. 

To anyone else, he would have appeared petulant; Mrs. Ana, however, could recognize his anxiety for what it was. She asked, “Do you have any concerns about your work?”

Tony took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve actually included another… uh, scientific observation about an unrelated subject — well, about myself. Just something that happened last night.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Ana looked up in intrigue and he had to tightly ball up his fists to keep from snatching back the journal. She retrieved the journal and glanced over the script, apparently searching.

He stumbled forward to help her locate the passage. “I drew a box around that part.” His voice sounded young when he mumbled this way; he consciously coughed in a lower register.

After turning a page and scanning, Mrs. Ana found the paragraph Tony had scrawled in a bashful, small script. “I see. Do you want to wait while I read it?” He gave an affirmative grunt.

Tony stood watch. Perhaps because this _sensitive_ question was presented in writing (unprecedented) she didn’t school her reactions as adroitly as usual. First, she straightened her shoulders, then drew an audible breath through her nose. Finally, he saw her lips sink away.

Mrs. Ana nodded and lowered the journal, closing it, to her lap. Her hand pressed over it as though it were a secret kept. “Well,” she said, “I can tell you that you’re not sick. And, nothing abnormal is happening to your body.” She took a demure pause to allow him to accept that information.

Only slightly relieved, Tony nodded, trying to act as though he’d suspected this much. To be fair, he _had_ , to a point. Based on teasing and talk within his father’s smoking room, he’d gleaned certain details about the “male sex.” Mostly _nonsequiturs_ and punchlines without jokes, but, enough to know what an erection was and deduce that it was an embarrassing occurrence whenever another man was around, but imperative when alone with a woman. What had disturbed him the previous night was not his erection (if he was going to have one, he’d prefer to be alone, in his room) but something much less _complacent_.

“Your body, judging by your— very scientific— observation is reacting very naturally. In fact, it’s, instead, a sign that you are healthy and developing as a young man.” 

“But,” he argued, “a reaction to what? I was just reading. There wasn’t even anyone around.”

Mrs. Ana hummed. “The presence of someone else is not exactly necessary. This sort of reaction can be to your own thoughts, or, to stimulation, or even fear… I can’t speak from experience, of course…”

She stopped and watched his face for a moment. Tony didn’t think he was revealing any of his eagerness to learn more. He was striving for a facade of academic neutrality. Under her scrutiny, though, he was dangerously close to dissolving into flippancy, pretending she’d brought it up, and making jokes.

Before he could do that, Mrs. Ana asked, “Am I the one you wish to discuss these things with?” Her hands moved in what must have been a vague indication of her body. “I certainly shall— and I am not un-knowledgeable, Heaven knows— I am rather surprised, though, that by your age your father hasn’t…”

Tony’s look of incredulity silenced her.

“No, I suppose not.” Here, she exasperatedly licked her lip. Howard rarely spoke to him; he would not approach Tony for a discussion of sexuality. “Very well, then.” She cast a thoughtful glance across the rows of damson then returned her attention. “Is this the first time this has happened?”

He noticed her shake her head before he’d fully answered, as though she wouldn’t have believed it could be possible that he’d not had an erection before now. “No, but…”

“But perhaps this is the first time it’s resolved itself in the way you’ve described?” She asked.

Tony nodded emphatically. He amended: “Well, sometimes when I wake up…” When she nodded encouragement, he said: “I have found a similar, uh, substance, but dried.”

“Do you know the proper word?” She asked in her governess’s tone. He shook his head. “The substance is _semen_ .” She enunciated as if he were sitting at a desk, trying to spell it. “The event itself is called _ejaculation_.”

“Like a shout?”

“Of a sort.” With a controlled smile, she conceded. “A shout is an expulsion of air or sound from your throat. Ejaculation is—”

“That’s alright. I think I understand.” He interrupted. “So, will this happen to me often?”

Mrs. Ana swallowed a laugh. “Well, I believe, from my understanding, that is contingent on the individual and, I suppose, on circumstances. Though, you should expect it will happen more frequently while you’re young than later in life.”

Tony frowned. Curiosity was giving way to frustration. “It doesn’t make sense to me. What circumstances? Why does this happen at all? What‘s the purpose?”

Mrs. Ana was quiet enough the birdsong could penetrate the glass ceiling and introduce itself in the conversation. Often she would go silent when he became frustrated in a discussion. She called it “settling.” He tried to settle so she would answer his questions. At least he knew that she would answer once he calmed.

“Hmm.” She droned, a sound like beespeak. “Why? Seems we’re entering the realm of religion and politics.” The impudent smirk was lost on Tony; he didn’t get the joke. However, it didn’t summon the same sense of impotence as the jokes in Howard’s smoking room. The smile vanished and she sighed. “There would be quite a debate about why, Little One.”

“Fine. Then, what do you think?”

Having it turned back on her, Mrs. Ana seemed to elope from the dictated lapse of time. She slowly drifted from her place, standing by the damson trunks, and lowered onto a stool. Her hands swept forward, inviting Tony to sit on the ground while she pondered the question.

Patiently, he complied and watched her think— her chin hard on her wrist.

Finally, she spoke. “It would seem to me that our bodies—”

Tony erupted, “ _Girls_ do this, too?”

Mrs. Ana did laugh this time and Tony scowled. After a small, disingenuous apology, she said, “Yes. An equivalent anyway. Not so _prominently_ as, um, let’s say… deep-set?” 

Now this was inconceivable to him. How was that possible? Surely Mrs. Ana was correct; not only was she a scientific authority, but also a _woman_. “An equivalent,” he muttered.

“As for my answer…” She recaptured his attention, a little peevishly. “I believe our bodies act this way because we have found another way to experience each other and our natural condition in this world.”

“Mrs. Ana,” he said.

“Too philosophical for you? Alright.” She paused to process the words through her mind. But, before she could rephrase, Tony blurted out a different anxious inquiry.

He said, “Is this related to _reproduction_?” The word emerged, shriveled and despised. He noted the look of sympathy that she gave him; he shrugged and flared his nostrils.

“Related, yes, but—” She reached out with a reassuring gesture when he bucked. “Your experience last night will not result in reproduction, I can assure you!”

Scarlet-faced, Tony trilled: “Of course I know that!” The leaves seem to shake above them. Mrs. Ana clasped a hand over her mouth, quaking with amusement. Nothing struck Tony as humorous. “I’m not so keen on the idea of my being _able to_ , is what I...” He dropped the sound.

The mirth disappeared from Mrs. Ana’s form. For a long moment, her presence waned. His, too, so that everything else in the greenhouse rose to replace them. Sparkles of sunlight… Mites within... Rustling of aphids and ladybugs they’d released to cull them.

Sweat announced itself, a rivulet streaking behind his ear. It brought him back to himself. Mrs. Ana began to speak again. “Ejaculation will not always result in reproduction, Little Mister, even with a fertile female partner.”

“Then,” he said— one last challenge— “what’s the point of it?” No perturbation weighed down his tone. Just callow confusion.

“Different reasons, I suppose.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re not giving me conclusive answers.”

Mrs. Ana smiled. “I’m sorry, Little Mister.”

“Well, I guess this just happens to me and that’s that!”

Sympathy cinched her brow again. “I wouldn’t want you to think you have _no_ control in it. It’s very natural. And, as far as I can speak regarding the male counterpoint, it can be a joyful experience— whether in union or not.”

For a moment he considered this. Before panic grasped hold of his racing heart, last night he had felt something else— the tipsy sensation of being atop a great height, then an indescribable but good feeling, then excitement, then pressure, then… well, it was all in his observation journal. All except the feelings of it. He guessed it was pleasurable; it was also unnerving and more than a desire to test the variables of this event again, he felt a sort of tormented curiosity.

“Why would anyone want to?” He said again, mostly to himself.

“Not everyone does,” Mrs. Ana said lightly. She handed his journal back to him. “Don’t let it upset you, Little One. It’s normal and natural; it can become something very enjoyable to you and someone you love, or, it can calm over time, but either way, don’t let it worry you.”

Tony took the journal.

“Why don’t you turn your mind to your blackberries for a while, Little Mister?” Mrs. Ana smiled before adding in a gentle voice: “If you have more questions, you may ask; but, I would have you give your inquisitive mind a rest.”

 _Rest?_ He thought. He pictured himself in the attic, sprawled on the plush, old rug he’d dragged from the corner, reading a letter from Pepper that had arrived that afternoon. He’d had a bowl of blackberries, still wet from being rinsed. As he ate them, he idly set aside the letter and let his mind wander. The taste of the berries was sweet-juice then dusty.

Memories of playing knights in the brambles with Pepper at their estate limned in his thoughts. He held a berry, pinched lightly, in two fingers to his lips. The fruit was tender. He remembered eating the berries from the brambles with Pepper and being stained with them. The wine of the blackberry burst against his tongue. Pepper had taken one and smeared it over his own lips until they were dark crimson.

Tony returned to his letter, reading Pepper’s account of stealing a bedsheet from the line and swimming with it around his waist, knotted into gossamer tail fin so he could pretend to be _Den lille havfrue._ Pepper wrote that the water was so very chilly and the long sheet pulled at him as he swam. All the while, Tony confoundedly felt a similar tug of fabric.

His mind was not going to rest.


	3. Pepper; Prescience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper has thought about Tony continually during the time they’ve been apart. He imagined Tony with him, sharing his life, and touching him. Now, he can truly see the man Tony has become. Not just this, but Tony is near enough to see him, too.

_May 23rd, 1875_

About five miles from the New Dorp station, Tony’s latest accomplishment, which turned out to be a motorized bicycle, that rushed down the country road as swiftly as a river canoe, had some sort of mechanical failure. He steered the pitching and burping thing into the sunny grass and began to stand, even while Pepper’s arms were still attached around his middle. Instinct had locked Pepper’s fingers, like a clasp, around Tony’s waist; he’d been so sure the modified bicycle would buck them to the ground. It took a moment to disentangle himself. “Well,” he said, dismounting as well, “I am not fond of _that_.”

Tony didn’t comment; he was craning to examine the small engine he’d affixed to the bicycle. If he had responded, it would’ve only been to dismiss the idea that Pepper could not have enjoyed zipping down the road, fast as a colt. Tony would have been partly right. It was exciting.

Instead, he muttered about the parts and the process of his creation. Pepper, however, didn’t care to learn about the metal root system that held the contraption together. He never could be bothered with mechanics. So, he waltzed around the roadside in absentminded suspense. 

Tony tinkered for a while— so long that Pepper sloughed off the awkwardness of idly standing and began to notice the sighing heat. He assisted its slow escape from his cuffs by taking off his suit jacket completely. There was little left to risk by laying in on the ground since stray grass blades had been flicking him all throughout the ride. Then, he rolled up his sleeves. The bend of his elbows glistened with sweat.

“You can take a bath when we get to the mansion.” Tony broke into his thoughts. Pepper startled from his inspection, silently hoping it wasn’t apparent that he was sweating. “Or, we can take a swim.” A guilty smile spread over Tony’s face. “I won’t snap at you this time.”

One of their last meetings was a few days before Tony’s family left their summer estate in Toronto. They were eleven. Pepper wandered onto the Stark estate to see Tony. He toted along the delicate swan kite Tony had crafted for him. After searching farther and farther onto the grounds, Pepper heard the light music of water. Tony was swimming in a dark pond under some black ash trees.

Mrs. Ana watched from the bank, her face as shadowed as the water. She saw Pepper and stiffened. She softly told him he should go, wait, that today was a hard day for Tony… but, Pepper wanted to stay there. He wanted to be with his friend. Tony wriggled through the pond, pale as a tadpole. He looked as though he belonged. Untamed yet vulnerable and…

 _Beautiful_.

Pepper knew it now; he had grown up. The lenses of his new maturity had been turned on his memories again and again, through hours doing chores in the cloister, through days of taking dictation at the law firm, and, most often, in the unlit evenings, as he lay in his bunk, feeling his ankles and legs slide through the cool cotton sheets. Tony was dear to him. Tony was closer than any other friend he’d known. And, yes, Tony was beautiful to him. _Desirous_.

“Sorry to put you in a bad way.” Tony tried to laugh away their current situation. “Of course, I’ll never understand why you chose to wear tweed in this weather. Surely it’s summer in Canada, too.”

“You’re not looking so fresh yourself, I hope you know.” He replied. “The sun’s full on your neck. You’re going to be bright pink tomorrow.”

Tony stood and abandoned the bike. He grinned and shrugged petulantly. “I don’t burn easily.” 

Even so, Pepper saw the dusky hue around his eyes. Sweat, like tears, ran along his jaw, the slope of his throat, and into his collar. Pepper swallowed as though it were tickling his own neck. Tony was close.

“You, on the other hand, might as well be in a griddle. You’re flushed all over your face and ears, Samuel.”

Pepper blinked, breaking the spell of Tony's clavicle, so he could answer. “Please,” he said, “call me ‘Pepper.’” At Tony’s quirked brow, he shrank self-consciously. “You’ve always called me ‘Pepper.’”

Teasing is what it had been. Tony gave him the nickname for his red hair and his freckles, all peppered along his arms and shoulders— even his scrawny legs. Those freckles had faded, though, and instead of insecurity, Pepper heard affection. Besides, he disliked the name “Samuel”; it didn’t speak of him. He didn’t use it anymore.

“I thought you hated when I called you ‘Pepper.’” Tony said.

“Then why have you done it repeatedly the past seven years?”

Ever the quick wit, Tony grinned and retorted: “Well, I must have worn you down, if you like it now.” He playfully pushed Pepper’s shoulder. As Pepper was recovering from the touch, (being here is too risky, Pepper!), Tony’s gaze changed. It seemed like a shade was drawn over it. “You’re different, Pep.”

Icy chills twined through Pepper’s ribs. The same fear that was planted at the train station, or maybe before, years ago, was breaking ground in his heart. But, before he had a chance to deflect, Tony spoke.

“You carry your chin higher.” Tony said. He was smiling, so Pepper relaxed. Then, he laughed. “I still can’t get over your hair!” Without warning, he lifted the fiery strands in one hand, from the back of Pepper’s neck. The breeze was a relief, replacing the trapped heat that Pepper hadn’t even realized was there. “It’s all knotted from the wind, you know.”

“Yes,” Pepper said, cooly, “I realize.”

As though to atone, Tony began to pull his fingers through the locks to detangle them. “Look, no harm done.” He said blithely. After his finger caught once, he combed more gently.

Pepper knew he needed to stop this, but he wasn’t sure how. He reminded himself that Tony didn’t realize, didn’t know, that Pepper had thought of him continually, for years. At meals, as the Sisters ate silently, he pictured Tony sitting across from him, telling him news from the day. Praying with the nuns in the evening, he pretended one of his laced hands belong to Tony. And. at the museum, where he lingered on his lunch hour, studying the forms in the Renaissance paintings, he tried to imagine how Tony looked, as a young man. Now, he could see for himself, because Tony stood with him. Near to him.

The guilt weighed on him. He pulled away. “Just leave it.” He took his hair and twisted it at the base of his skull. “I can fix it... if we ever get to your house.” He attempted a smile.

If Tony were hurt or perplexed by Pepper’s dismissal, he hid it. Walking back to the bicycle, he remarked: “Don’t fret. Jarvis should be along soon.” Jarvis had let them go ahead. He was going to attend some errands and hire a carriage for the journey back. “Until then,” Tony said and glanced back, “I guess we walk.”

Pepper sighed. He retrieved his suit jacket from the grass. “Or, we could relieve that poor bicycle of all that mess and, you know, pedal, as we’re intended to.”

Greatly offended, Tony scoffed. “As intended? Don’t bore me, Pepper. If it were up to you, the wheel would not have been invented— because humans could use their feet ‘as they’re intended to.’”


	4. Tony: Paramore

_ May 27, 1875 _

Pepper’s hands were long. His neck was long, too, and the muscles that sprung from its base ran delicately to his shoulders. His shape was somewhat pear-like, his hips rounded; “pear-like”— the word continued to roll in Tony’s mind, leaving a tang to his thoughts. Tony knew that he was staring at his friend. Staring and missing things that Samuel— no, wait, Pepper— had said.

What an abhorrent feeling. Tony dug a thumbnail into his palm.  _ Control yourself _ . He let his eyes roam almost manically, just to hide his focus on Pepper’s body.

Always before, when he allowed himself to  _ look _ , it had been at the sports club. He looked at his fellow boxers: their sharp corners, their coiled muscles, their prominent chins, thick waists, firm thighs... These athletes, these men, were exciting to gaze at. Tony always hid it, but, recently, he’d begun to allow himself that secret pleasure, to  _ view _ . 

Shamefully, he rebuked himself now. That voyeurism was out of check.  _ Turned _ on his dearest friend.

Strangely though, Pepper’s body differed from the forms that usually aroused him. Pep was slight and soft and sloped. The curves of his face were gentle. Lips of a sprite. Even his strong, cleft chin, and the cut of his jaw did little to balance the femininity of his expression. 

Instead of whittled muscles, he was smooth. His long fingers were not callused or dry. (Neither were they marred or scabbed.) Tony teased him about his “secretary hands” and Pepper only retorted that his own must come in handy when filing down metal edges in the workshop.

Worst of all, Tony knew he was touching Pepper too much, too often. Even his mother had noticed and sent him a furtive, but unmistakable,  _ look _ across the dining table. Touching Pepper had become a fascination from the moment Tony gathered the fiery hair from Pep’s neck. And felt his weight against his back, on the motorized bicycle. And, especially, when Pepper touched  _ him _ — from little, innocuous brushes to intentional gestures like a hand on his shoulder.

Tony couldn’t fool himself completely, insisting that all the times he playfully pushed Pepper or elbowed him or leaned on him, were not just excuses to  _ feel _ him. He was acting on years of dreams— waking and sleeping. Dreams of twining, plunging, panting, kissing— 

_And_ , he accused himself, _hasn’t it always been Pepper?_ _Even though you didn’t know what he looked like, didn’t you appropriate some image of him, of another boy, with fiery hair, on the lawn beneath you, among the flapping laundry. Or, there was that one where a redheaded youth wrapped around your hips, in the cool shallows of a stream, and thrust into you, like a man does a woman. Wasn’t that Pepper whose name you smeared against the skin of your arm when you stroked yourself? Or—_ the humiliation _— when you laid with those prostitutes?_

Yes. Pepper was the root from which his sexuality grew. The knowledge sank into the pit of his gut. He had finally become the deviant his father predicted he would be, back when he was too young to comprehend the prophecy. He must control this. He couldn’t bear to lose his most precious friend— certainly not because of his fetish or fragility.

* * *

Tony said, “Now is as a good a time as any for my birthday surprise!” He had strolled onto the patio, where Pepper was already finished with breakfast, and clapped his hands. He could feel the anticipation stretching his face into a silly grin.

Pepper, who was always awake at some unholy hour when even the sun was bleary, cocked an eyebrow at this salutation. Warily, he asked, “Is this a surprise for you or for me?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately. Stabbing a slice of ham for his breakfast plate, he savored the suspense, knowing Pepper was watching him with growing apprehension. Finally, he turned away from the buffet dishes and answered. “A surprise for you, but it’s definitely an entertainment for my birthday.”

Less than an hour later, Tony positioned Pepper at the top of an embankment. With hands firmly on Pepper’s hips, he made sure his friend was standing in the right place. “Now, raise the glider over your head and secure your elbows just there.”

“Are you sure it can carry me? You’ve really done your  _ calculations _ and everything necessary?” Pepper danced from foot to foot. It would have been adorable in a little girl, Tony thought, and likely considered so even in women their own age, though he didn’t care for that, personally.

“Yes, yes, it’s tested and true.” He insisted, trying to bite away his amused grin before Pepper saw it. He must have heard it in Tony’s voice, however, because he cast a condemning look over his shoulder. “Listen, it could carry Mrs. Ana and you’re a comparable height and weight.”

Tony took Pepper’s elbows in his hands, moving them to where they should be on the bar around his torso. The sleeves of Pepper’s shirt were buttoned at the forearm; Tony felt the cool surface of his skin. Meanwhile, Pepper let out a giddy noise of fear. “What if I were to hit a tree?”

Hilarity rang from Tony’s throat. “Stop being such a sissy! You’ll be fine! Now, three…”

“Three? No, you don’t just start counting—”

“Two! You’re going to need a running start, remember!”

“I’m only doing this for your birthday I hope you know!”

“One!”

“Tony!”

“Go, Pep!”

Despite his repeated reluctance, Pepper did sprint forward and leap from the high hill. He shrieked once as he glided over the small stream below and then the shriek became a caricature of glee. Tony watched Pepper’s bare legs kick in the air, perhaps in an attempt to land safely. He began to climb down so he could meet Pepper. The glider wobbled and Pepper tumbled into the grass.

By the time Tony descended the hill, he was concerned that Pepper was either hurt or upset. He sat in a lump of quivering shoulders, head sunk to his chest. Tony splashed across the stream and ran to help him stand. “That wasn’t too awful, was it, Pepper?” His flippancy hid his uncertainty.

Pepper gasped over and over. Tony held one of his shoulders and craned to see his face. He asked, “You still in one piece?” That’s when he realized Pepper was laughing. Little spasmodic giggles floated brightly down the bank.

Tony’s whole being alighted with the sound. Then, Pepper reached for him. He allowed his friend to climb up his arms, and stumble to his feet, burdened by his unrelenting laughter. “Happy birthday, Tony. I’m not doing that again!” Pepper chortled.

“Godsakes, Pepper!” Tony exclaimed. “You laugh as though you’re having a fit.”

Pepper quirked his thin lips. There was such a mischievous glint in his eyes that Tony’s breath caught. And, there, stunned by Pepper’s joy, and how it felt for him to be so near— so splendorous, yet so natural— Tony realized his desire for Pepper was more complex than lust alone. He was in love. Had Pepper been a woman, he would have begun planning their courtship right then.


	5. Insular; Weeds on Holy Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony grapples with Pepper’s nearness. He doesn’t trust himself with his friend, who seems so pure, so good, and nothing like him. Despite his worry, with Pepper close by, Tony finds a little peace.
> 
> Pepper grapples with Tony’s nearness. When he wrote him letters, he was so open and eager to tell Tony his thoughts. But, now that he can see Tony, hear his responses, and feel him close by, he’s afraid.

_ May 28, 1875 _

The first night that they shared a room, Pepper knocked on the door as though he did not want to be heard. Tony was not asleep; he was rarely asleep, actually, no matter the time. Instead, he fell asleep in unconventional places— in the garden, on the piano bench, on a mat in his gym— and following unpredictable patterns. He persisted in his many obsessions until his body overtook his brain.

Pepper was not this way. His body was greedy with sleep and kept a strict schedule so that it didn’t miss any. He often went to his room when the sky was still sun-stained. It drove Tony batty. He woke, too, before sunrise and traipsed out to the garden, enjoying the last vestige of chill on the ground, before the sunlight dried the dew. 

This night, however, hours after they’d retired from celebrating Tony’s birthday, Pepper stood in the corridor outside Tony’s bedroom, faint as a reflection on muddy pond-water.

Tony opened his door carefully. No one came to his bedroom at night, and no one but, perhaps, Jarvis would knock and actually wait for an answer. The staff gave a short, polite knock and cracked the door. If they needed to interrupt him to explain their business, they did; otherwise, they simply entered. His parents would enter regardless of a closed door, without knocking, because, of course, this was  _ Howard’s house _ , and he was  _ Maria’s son _ . It was their inextricable right. Though, he rarely saw either of them outside the dining room or patio. Or, the rare occasions when Howard called him to either his office or one of the smoking rooms.

Pepper floated in the dim hallway, with red, wet eyes. The blush of his skin blended with the old-fashioned, undyed nightshirt he wore. His hair was not tied back, as it usually was. It flamed over his shoulders, a heatless fire in the dark.

Tony was captured by the sight; the skin of his face was teased by an anxious energy. He would never disclose this to Pepper, but he looked like Daisy or Holly, his younger sisters, who were born frail. He'd lost them nearly seven years ago. Tony always thought of the Potts twins as sentient dolls: so enervated by their illness, yet so extravagantly dressed, and with ginger dolly curls. Had Pepper’s nightshirt been covered in flounces and his hair a little longer, he could have been their aged spectre.

“Pep? What is it?” Tony asked. He peered down the hall, in either direction, then guided Pepper inside. Instinctively, he lapsed into frivolity. “You look a little peaked. Have you seen a ghost? May have just been a mirror.”

Pepper stood a moment and licked his lip. His breath shuddered once. “May I sleep close to you tonight?” He whispered. “I don’t mind if it’s on the floor.”

Tony didn’t know how to respond. He felt the insides of his ears swell and he went a little deaf.  _ Sure. Say sure. Where’s the harm?  _ He told himself. Yet, he hesitated.

The harm loomed behind the comfort. The harm would enter in with Pepper’s innocence. He didn’t know that Tony fantasized about men, being in their arms, feeling a hot cock slip between his thighs, about hands gripping his waist, and, well... Hours of experimental daydreams. He was ever the scientist, testing variables and recording detailed observations, if only in his memory. 

But, Tony was master of his own thoughts, wasn’t he? Pepper couldn’t read minds. And besides, Tony would not think of Pepper that way. He’d leap out a window before he hurt Pep.

But—Also, and worst of all, Pepper didn’t know about his nights in Boston, with the bullying of his older university mates. (Except Rhodey, God bless him.) Those nights were spent pretending to join their  _ conquests of the weaker sex _ . Awkwardly attempting to conquer manhood at the cathouses… Once, he’d come dangerously close to being caught by one of his fellows, who mistakenly entered the room he was in, committing sodomy, though not with a man. But wasn’t it still condemning?

But, why should that matter? But, wasn’t that miles away, back in Boston, where he left it? As if actions inhabited the places they were committed. He scoffed at himself. But— This room. Pepper. Their bright days, together. In their friendship. There was no room for shame or shadow here.  _ Just calm down _ ;  _ control yourself _ , he admonished.

Jolting, he realized Pepper still waited for an answer. “Yes. Sure. Is, uh, something the matter?” He shook his head as though doubting there were— the opposite of his gut suspicion.

Quiet, Pepper gazed at the large desk on the far side of the room. A lamp was lit and many small components and tools were laid out on it; Pepper gave it his focus. His throat bobbed gently. “You weren’t sleeping?” Pepper asked, ignoring Tony’s inquiry. “What are you working on?”

His eyes were illuminated and Tony was breathless. Pepper’s eyes laughed, even when he was weeping. How shy he was with his emotions, no matter what he felt! There was always a glass layer over him that refracted them, sending them skittering, hard to catch. Tony, in contrast, was blinded by his emotions. He blinded all those closeby with them as well— like an explosion from a mine.

“Ah, that?” The night cloaked the red around Tony’s ears. Pepper had given him a birthday present after dinner. Once they had eaten with his mother in the dining hall, a cold and cringing experience, Tony took Pepper to Jarvis’s apartment. Jarvis returned from his duties, then, the three of them had tea, coffee and scones with blackberry jam, Ana’s recipe.

Pepper had entertained them with a soliloquy from some drama. It was ridiculous— shy Pepper transformed into a flamboyant, vehement speaker. He wore no costume, yet he donned a persona that was as effective as an actor in full wardrobe.

Tony had remarked, “Law school will be a cinch, Pepper. You already lie as well as any lawyer in the land.” Of course, Pepper took offense to that; Tony could see it in his twitching smile. He apologized lightly.

Jarvis gave courteous praise for Pepper’s ability. He asked, “Is acting a pastime you particularly enjoy, Master Potts?”

This caused a giggle. Pepper looked down, in thought. “Only when I may choose the person I’m pretending to be. And, please call me ‘Pepper,’ Mr. Jarvis.”

Tony snorted a laugh. “Oh? Do you pretend to be persons you don’t choose to be?” For the life of him, he couldn’t explain why he’d said that. He loved to nettle Pepper, but never in a mean-spirited way. This joke didn’t feel funny, even to him.

To his credit, Pepper only replied, “Don’t you?”

Tony felt a thrill— one he hated for how it exposed his insecurity, but, damn, he loved Pepper for challenging him.

Jarvis excused himself for the night. He thanked Pepper for sharing his company and talent. Then, he held Tony’s gaze and said, “Happy birthday, Young Sir, and many happy returns. One may be quite proud of the man you’ve become.” In turn, Tony smirked, trying to accept the remark.

With Jarvis retired, Pepper humbly handed Tony his gift. It was a small disc made of brass, covered in punched pins. It belonged to a music box, but Pepper didn’t know what tune it played. He’d bought it from a shop as he journeyed to New York. The seller could not tell him the song, either. “I hoped the mystery and challenge of constructing a proper mechanism to play it might be a sort of gift for you,” Pepper said.

Here, in the dark, Tony was compelled to keep secret his joyous crafting of a music box from scratch. He didn’t understand why, but he was embarrassed to show Pepper how much he adored the gift. It was somehow like guarding a levee, building up its crown against erosion, ensuring it didn’t breach and flood the vulnerable land.

“Oh, just tinkering on that bit of brass you brought me.” He said and Pepper nodded, absently. Finally, Tony sighed, if only to fill the quiet. “Why don’t you lie down, Pep? And,  _ not on the floor _ ; you’re my guest, for crying out loud!”

Pepper glanced at him, then at the bed. It must have looked inviting, with its silk sheets and downy pillows. There was relief in Pepper’s expression. “I would not want to take your bed.” He murmured.

“You aren’t; and, anyway, don’t argue! Why do you always argue?”

That earned him a sideways look from his friend. “As though you don’t try to control every…”

“See? You’re impossible. Just catch some sleep.” Tony grinned reprehensibly and walked to the desk. “You’re usually three hours deep by now.” He sat. There came the whisper of bedding as Pepper reclined. 

Tony smiled, shaking his head at a joke no one had told. Then he picked up the spring motor he was fashioning. Despite the drumming of his heart a moment before, he felt contentment drift over him.

* * *

Pepper sighed when the silk sheets flowed over his form.  _ Such luxury _ . As on the first night of his visit, he actually shuddered with pleasure. Living with the nuns at St. Joseph’s, he knew, was a luxury in its own right. They were extraordinarily generous to him— as accepting as his own family had been. Otherwise he would have been hired out for labor, in field or factory. The Sisters protected him, offering liberty and education, the opportunity for an apprenticeship at the law firm. The credit for his entry into the New York University School of Law was theirs. Yet, flax linen was no competition for silk.

Settling and shifting across the mattress, his nightshirt snagged about his buttocks and exposed his legs to the layers of bedding.  _ Just as well _ . He sighed sleepily then began to slowly kick his legs as though swimming. It made no noise so he didn’t feel self-conscious about it; he let the sensation guide his limbs as he closed his eyes to rest. This was a nightly habit. The coolness of untouched sheets felt so good on his skin.

Every day, sometimes twice, if he felt the need, Pepper would shave. Not only his face and neck, but his body as well. He’d done this, almost without fail, since puberty. The growth disturbed him immediately. In his boyish mind, he thought he could stop it this way, that it would not simply continue to sprout, with him diligently pruning it, like weeds from holy ground, for the rest of his life. The realization came in later years, but he could not stop himself.

For his legs, he used a straight razor and soap, as he did for his chin and cheeks. The Starks had a valet available to him, which he conclusively refused. However, the man brought him shaving cream and aftershave, which left him smoother. He liked that. He kept the mossy hair on his chest trimmed close to the skin with nail scissors. The hair on his arms was so blond it was nearly invisible, and so he felt at peace with it.

Finally, within the past year, he had ceased shaving his pubic hair, though its presence still left him with complicated emotions. The sight of his penis, now mature, when immodestly unobscured on his bare pubis seemed too puerile, somehow gruesome. So, he made this concession and stopped trimming it. If nothing else, it offered a little more modesty.

Silence twined with the dark; they became the same entity, called Solitude.

Silence, once his sanctuary, was hateful now. The Sisters were always there; even when he was alone, (because they refused to sleep in the same room as he) they were just a door away. Any of them would comfort him or chat, regardless of their feelings about his presence in the convent. Sister Margaret had given her blessing and that was good enough for them. Any of them would answer if he called out from within his seclusion.

Here, Pepper was at once exposed and hidden. Stark Mansion was imposing— luxurious but exclusive. Sprawling. Tony’s bedroom was not even in the same wing as his guest room. He had shuffled through the expanse of wall to find him tonight. Here, there was no one but Tony that Pepper knew or wanted around.  _ I should not let this vex me _ , he thought. _ I will be at the University, living as a man, from now on. I must grow accustomed. _

_ Oh, but, what an empty house! _ he mused, listening to the yawn of the mansion. No wonder Tony always sounded so lonely in his letters. It was difficult to imagine how his friend could live in such a deprived and depriving place when he was a person so...  _ full _ . Pepper contrarily thought of himself as compact; he could fold down many times to become something one could hold inside their palm.

But, Pepper felt smaller than before— smaller than ever— just a down feather shed on a lake. Perhaps this vacuous house did that to him. He was used to Silence, but the nuns were _silent_. This was Solitude. It was more severe. It cowed his spirit and made him tremble like a newborn. This entire time in the mansion, he’d been so curled-up. He was reserved where he would have been so free. He withdrew when he wanted to expand. Even his great joy, talking to Tony, had become constrained. It had never been difficult when they wrote to each other.

Pepper swished his legs again through sheets like cool water. He thought of being in his room, in the convent; if he were there tonight, he knew what he would be doing. Reading Tony’s latest letter, reciting passages in his heart, wishing Tony were with him, that he could call out and his friend would answer.

“Tony?”

“Hm?”

“Your letters…” he said but drifted, taking his voice with him. Wakefulness had become a burden.

“What about them?”

There was a long pause. Pepper mumbled. “Thank you for writing to me. Your letters have,” — here, he paused, fishing for syllables that made sense— “lived inside me for  _ so long _ .” Slumber smeared the words.

Hissed laughter moved through the dark. “Go to sleep, Pepper,” Tony said, betraying some annoyance at this unintelligible discussion.

Pepper blinked his eyes open. Tony looked so far , shrouded in the dark. Within, Pepper’s heart howled. Isolation held him prone.  _ Distance _ , it was always distance— but, no, all these days of closeness, there had been no blockade, no obstacles, no excuses for loneliness. Instead,  _ nearness _ had restrained him, because now he could see Tony’s face, see his gestures, hear his tone— aware of his scent, his pulse rapping in his fingertips when Tony took his— all which Pepper had longed for, and now, he was nothing but afraid. _How pitiful._

The Sisters were right to fret about him.

Pepper was awake again in an instant. Angrily, he declared to himself:  _ I am not such a timid thing _ .  _ How pointless! Should I be afraid of happiness?  _ If the worst was that Tony would become distant again… He was an adult and could accept rejection with dignity, if it came to that.

“Sister Margaret,” he said, then sat up, “will have finished her business in New York City yesterday. She’s likely on the train, returning to Ontario, tonight.” Tony put down his tools; he was listening. Pepper continued, tone hollow: “I suppose I am realizing … that I am alone, thousands of miles away from everything I’ve known, in a foreign country. I feel silly, crying about it, but, there it is.”

“Oh,” Tony replied after a while. “I thought you were traveling by yourself.”

A wry smile interrupted Pepper’s frown. “I was, but Sister Margaret wouldn’t allow me to travel alone. She was sure I would be robbed on the train. So, she took the opportunity to visit the city and saw me here.” He sighed. “She worries over me. They all do, thinking I’m naïve.” A laugh tore through a sob. “This is the first time I’ve been alone since—“

“That’s sort of rude, Pep, isn’t it?”

Pepper startled. “What?”

“Well, I’m here.” Tony turned around in the chair. There was only a crescent glimpse of his face before he eclipsed the lamplight again. Pepper knew, despite the veil of black, that he wore that smug, impudent grin. “Do I not count as someone?”

His nicer features always ended up concealed.


	6. Pretender; What’s the Worst Thing I Could Say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper spends a quiet moment reflecting on his feelings for Tony. Tony interrupts his thoughts and Pepper takes a beautiful risk.

_ May 29, 1875 _

_ This is no simple affection. I never want to leave him again! Perhaps everyone feels such a devotion to someone who knows so much of their heart.  
_

_ But, even if it were just me in the entire world who became so intimately melded to a friend… would this discredit my love for him? Should I stop loving him so? Should I step away? _

_ I’ve listened to so many people my age talk about love. It never sounded like this. Perhaps though, my love, my romance, is this way. I am not like other people after all. _

_ What I have— what we have must truly be something rare. Together… What are we? Did I somehow make this up? Maybe this is just within the theatre of my mind and I’ve made him a player in something he never agreed to. _

_ Yet— yet! _

_ If this began in me, why is its sway so powerful? Am I that good a pretender? _

_ But, maybe I am. _

* * *

  
Pepper sat on his knees in the garden. It was still very dim and rosy when he’d found this place, but now the sun had looked on the earth for about an hour, and the sky was clear blue. Pepper worshipped the sun. He woke with it and went to sleep when it retired. True, the years living with the Sisters instilled this regiment in him; most chores required daylight to do them properly. Even despite that, though, Pepper loved to share his waking hours with the sun.

This patch of the garden was tucked away from the rest, around the back of the mansion. The tall rose-of-Sharon bushes created an alcove and Pepper could nestle beneath its flower rafters, among the more embarrassed foliage. Here, he secreted himself away until the sun rays had dried the dew. In this alcove, he spoke his own kind of prayers.

_ If I walked up to Tony, if I held his gaze, and told him I am in love with him _ … He shivered. It was not only fear racing up and down his thighs; pleasure was there, too.  _ What would he say? _ He tried to speak for Tony, donning the masque as well as his inner actor could.  _ He might talk about friendship and how we will always be friends. Even that would not disappoint me, exactly. I would wish to kiss him, just once, if he let me. _

Pepper imagined Tony’s face— the shock (would he be shocked?) drawing his muscles up and away— the play of a smile while he claimed to have known all along— the desire—?  _ Oh, would he desire me? _ Pepper lost his breath, lost his balance, lost his mind for several moments. All he had were glimpses within a mist: Tony’s lips exploring an ear, arms enveloping him, fingers cradling his head, a nose tracing the path of his neck, leading Tony to his clavicle...

He became aware of sensations that he felt so rarely that he could hardly process them: a quickening between his legs and electric impulses that weakened him until he was bowed at the waist. If Tony wanted him, what would happen?  


Schooling his body to repose, Pepper closed his eyes.  _ I will tell him _ . With this resolution, the beating blood in his shaft gradually eased, to his relief. He blew out a steady sigh.  _ But, if there’s even a chance he may not welcome my confession _ … He chuckled at the word, at its new use in his brain— not to a man in a box, not one of _wrongdoing_ , or so he hoped.  _ Then, I need to choose my timing kindly _ .

Pepper shifted as if to stand, but then—

Oh,  _ then— _

Soft drops trickled onto his crown, flickered between strands of his hair. Pepper lifted his eyes skyward and there was Tony’s hand, sprinkling petals down on him. Memories, tempered by loss and longing, rose through his throat in an pained exhalation. With no resistance, tears sprang.

Tony chuckled through a mirth-quirked expression. “I’ve been here for at least two minutes,” he teased. “Did I interrupt your holy recitations?”

* * *

This part of the garden was Tony’s. He planted and tended it himself. Maybe the gardeners had watered his plants a few times, but the little patch belonged to him; he was jealous with it. It was his labor of love, dedicated to Mrs. Ana, and Jarvis, in kind. The windows of Jarvis’s apartment opened onto the patch. It was as close to a cocoon for Jarvis’s dwelling as Tony could manage.

Of course, with Pepper visiting, he’d done most of his gardening by starlight. The day was devoted to Pepper. Besides, the cloak of cool night air was much preferred to the May sun, which seemed mild to the stroller but smoked the clothes on his back when he worked.

This morning, Tony ambled about the grounds, searching for Pepper. He knew that his friend was probably walking in the morning air; Pepper always waxed poetically about the untainted, natural joy of a fresh lungful. But Tony was delighted to spy him sitting beneath the rose-of-Sharons, surrounded by the foxglove, delphiniums, and the shy coleus that were all _his_. Gathered there before him was everything he found beautiful.

He crouched and goose-legged into the shelter of the bushes. Pepper was breathing deeply, eyes closed, rapt in some internal practice. Could he be praying? Tony smiled, waiting to be noticed. How funny that Pepper was too absorbed to realize he was sitting right next to him.

Pepper was funny. He was silly. He was  _ wonderful _ .

It was almost like being weightless to be with him. Tony buoyed on the playful surface of his company. And, there was so much of the boy he had been still in him, still vibrant and impudent. As Tony had grown up, he was sure that boyhood within himself had been killed. Maturing had been the experience of the child he was being beaten again and again until he was all callus and muscle and  _ man _ . The young self in Pepper, however, was not cowed, but he was resilient, shining… He was Pepper, true as ever, beyond age.

Tony sat beside him as Pepper breathed. A twinge of jealousy passed through him, but was replaced immediately by gratitude.  _ Silly Pepper, _ was all Tony said to himself to express this surge of love.

When Pepper still did not react to his presence, Tony reached up and plucked a blossom from the rose-of-Sharon. The petals— clean white with just a blood-drop of crimson at the very inside of the corolla— separated from the calyx as he rolled his thumb over them. When he was done, there was a velvet coat of oil on his palm.

He held the handful of petals aloft and slowly dusted Pepper’s head with them. They looked like butterflies alighting his crown. Finally, Pepper’s shoulders leapt. He looked up at Tony’s hand.

Tony released his amusement in a relieved sigh. “I’ve been here for at least two minutes. Did I interrupt your holy recitations?”

That’s when Pepper blinked and Tony saw the tears. He fell back on his heels to give Pepper some space.  _ Oh shit, Tony _ . Just as he mumbled “Sorry. I’ll leave you to it…” Pepper leaned toward him with urgency.

“Why did you do that?” He demanded, albeit softly.

_ Goddamnit _ . Tony chewed at his tongue, agonizing over an explanation. “Just— you know. Something I remembered from your letters.”

This seemed to confirm something. Pepper drew in his little lips. The tears he cried reached his jaw on both sides. He was going to speak and Tony somehow had to _leave_ before he could.

“Listen, Pep, I remembered that your dad would...” He bumbled, backing away on his knees. He felt the firm dirt give way, dampening the fabric. More grass stains. “Thought you might like it.”

“I love you!”

  
  
  


Tony lifted his eyes from the ground. He tried to read Pepper’s mouth— to find a trace of the sound still there.  _ I love you. _ Did those roseate lips speak those words? Or were Tony’s ears being cruel?

But, there was Pepper, and though he did not speak again, his body was washed toward Tony. Quivering, Tony realized. His eyes earnestly sought acknowledgment. Tony suddenly ached to give it to him, but his mind was rendered useless.

After his spine straightened, as if autonomically, Tony said, “I love you, too, Pep.” Unwieldy, the words upset his whole mouth. “You’re… the truest friend I’ve ever known.” Pepper was shaking his head; Tony labored on: “Maybe Rhodey, when he’s not trying to nursemaid me.”

Pepper interrupted. “No. No, Tony.” He bit his lip and cast his gaze to the creeping coleus bed. 

_ Please stop _ . Tony begged.  _ I can’t— I’ll end up _ — hurting him.

His pleas were unheard. More tears fell down Pepper’s face, widening the tracts already cut. “Please,” Tony said, “don’t cry. I don’t know what to do when you cry... I’m happy that you… love me.”  _ You just don’t understand! _

Finding his strength again, Pepper murmured: “I tried not to. I did! It seems like one more way my body betrays me. If I were a woman—“

“Stop, Pepper.” Tony said, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. “There’s no need— there’s _no_ _point_ — in saying that.” He took a voluminous gasp and rose, thighs and abdomen straight, as though height might lend itself to finality. He had to fix this. “You are … dear to me. You really are! More than anyone has been… Um.” The path of his speech became unclear. He tried to regroup.

Then, Pepper moved closer. Because he was taller, he didn’t need to raise himself to look Tony in the eye. His expression mesmerized Tony and he held still, at the mercy of whatever Pepper would say. His face was tantalizingly near— so close that he could not see below Pepper’s chest. Pepper filled his sight.

Pepper’s breath touched him when he spoke. “May I love you?” 

Within the next breath they were both still. Then, Pepper laid the backs of two fingers to Tony’s navel and trailed them down until they met the waistband of his trousers. There, they rested, persistent but reverent.

Tony felt a river-strong surge in his abdomen and his muscles contracted violently to control the pleasure. He tried to swallow but his body wouldn’t respond, too occupied by the activity below. A dwindling sound escaped his moist throat, but otherwise he’d completely lost his voice.

Meanwhile, his head was a-roar with dissension, like a chamber of politicians, quarreling. Above all else, his instinct, his greatest desire was to protect Pepper.  _ Protect Pepper _ . How could he do that if—

“Please.”


End file.
